Deluge: A Novel of Global Warming

by S. Fowler Wright

  They took the noose from his neck. They untied his hands. He watched Tom go off into the night with a dozen men. He was told to stay in the camp with the two men who remained. “Will they kill Muster Bellamy?” he asked his new companions. His only regret was that he would not be there to see it.

  CHAPTER XXX

  It would be idle to narrate the dispositions by which Tom and his companions surrounded and surprised the camp of their enemies. Tom was something less than a military genius, and the information would add nothing to the records of the art of war. In itself, the operation lacked interest, because they found it empty.

  One of the horses had gone. They attached no importance to this if they were aware of it at all, but it was actually of far greater moment than the absence of the men they were seeking. Had they done so, it would have made no difference, for the animal, under Joe’s able guidance, was already some miles away. It was a good many years since she had felt anyone on her back who knew how to ride, and the experience recalled the far-off days of prideful youth before a shaft had galled her. Joe rode with a purpose, and though the night was cloudy, he was able to keep a fairly direct course, and he knew when it was better to trust the mare than to depend upon his own judgement. He had time enough, and he made good progress through the night.

  Besides the remaining horse, they found Joe Timms of the damaged hand. He made no resistance. He was not aware of the sanguinary intention with which they had called so unexpectedly. He made no objection to telling them that Reddy and the rest had started to explore the tunnel about an hour earlier. Had he been asked more, he might have given a more coherent narrative than Hodder had supplied, but, in fact, he was not. He was of a somewhat higher intelligence than Hodder. He had been a labourer of the lowest type in the old order. Coarse, foul-mouthed, brutal, and commonplace, he had yet kept within the laws of the civilisation which had produced him. His only trouble had been a fine of forty shillings for throwing a live kitten on to the fire, and even this had been on a Saturday night, when it could not be expected that he would be entirely responsible for his actions. Tom dealt with him as he had done with Hodder. He received the same promise, but judged that it would not be kept if there should come a safe opportunity of breaking it.

  The fact that the camp was empty raised a fresh problem, which his companions looked to Tom to resolve. They had accepted without protest his assumption of control when he had sent Ellis on his successful foray. They had left him to question Hodder and to decide his fate. They had let him plan the attack which had won them an empty shell. It was natural that they should now look to him for guidance when an unexpected situation confronted them.

  Tom’s inclination was always toward the most direct solution of a confronting problem. He could plan with some intelligence when plans were needed, but his instinct was for the frontal attack. It is sometimes a successful method, but it is not economical.

  Now he decided on a direct pursuit through the tunnel. This was hazardous enough, as operations in the dark are bound to be, but there was this to be said for it, those whom they pursued would have no reason to apprehend an attack from the rear, and would be very unlikely to have taken any precautions against it; also, the further end of the tunnel was held by so small a force that a collision could scarcely fail to be disastrous to those who had been stationed to hold it if the whole of Teller’s band should emerge upon them.

  Tom decided to follow Reddy with the best speed they could make, and despatched Jack Tolley to warn the little party who had captured the further exit, both of the forces with which they might have to deal and of the attack which he would be making upon their rear.

  Jack Tolley made his way very speedily, having the faculty which remembers a path which has once been followed, and which is not confused by the darkness. He was in good hope that he would arrive before Reddy’s party, they having, presumably, to make a cautious and contentious passage, and sure that he would do so before Tom Aldworth’s pursuit should have arrived, even if it were not delayed by any earlier opposition.

  First he was, but none too soon for his purpose. He found the little party crouching under the barrier which had been raised across the entrance and listening to a sound of rifle-shots which came at irregular intervals from the cavity of the tunnel. They told him that they had first heard them about half an hour earlier, and at a much greater distance. Two or three times since there had been pauses of silence, after which they had sounded nearer. They had not thought of danger to themselves as they leaned over the earth-mound listening to this enigma of conflict, till Harry Swain had been struck by a bullet. Since then they had crouched under the barrier, uncertain whether to attempt to obstruct the issue of the tunnel occupants should they attempt it. They were obviously relieved that Jack had come to advise and reinforce them.

  They had, perhaps, some excuse for vacillation. Of the six men that Ellis had chosen to accompany him, Bill Horton lay dead under the bank, Ted Wrench sat nursing a bandaged head, and fully convinced that he was unfit to assist them further, and Harry Swain, whose collarbone had suffered in its collision with the stray bullet already mentioned, was obviously off the active list, though he was less ready to admit it.

  They had stamped out the fire which had been first lighted by the gang, of which Hodder alone was now living, and around which they had since warmed themselves very cheerfully, considering that it would make them easy marks for anyone who approached from the tunnel darkness. But Tolley, with better judgement, proposed that it should be started again, and so built that it would throw its light on anyone who should attempt to clamber out of the tunnel. With himself, there were four unwounded men, and two of these stationed on each side of the embankment, and being amply supplied with firearms, could make the exit sufficiently hazardous and would be able to distinguish friends from foes, while it would be difficult for anyone to see them across the glare of the firelight.

  If, as he anticipated, they would soon encounter a rush of Reddy’s party, with Tom in chase, an oblique fire would be less dangerous to their own friends than one directed down the course of the tunnel. The fate of Harry Swain was a warning too clear to be disregarded.

  The plan being agreed, the fire was quickly awakened into a fresh activity, a supply of wood for the night having been collected by its first builders, and they then arranged themselves as Jack had suggested.

  The night was much chillier than had been those that preceded it. It was cloudy also, with a fine rain which was little more than mist falling at intervals. But it was not very dark, and becoming less so, for the moon was rising and the clouds were of no great density.

  Jack Tolley kept his eye on the black arc of the tunnel and his rifle ready, but his thoughts wandered. His weapon was a sporting rifle of a very light pattern, and had been ignored by his companions, who preferred something of a more formidable aspect.

  But it suited Jack. It bore a famous name. It was as neat, and slim, and precise as its owner. It was as well-kept as when he had picked it from the rack in the gun-room. Jack’s neatness had been a joke in the miner’s cottage where he used to lodge. He had been a clerk at the mine. He had risked his life to give aid and warning when the cage had jammed in the main shaft. Probably he had saved his life by the risk which had appeared likely to lose it. He was a clerk who had come through—a living proof that a man may be greater than his environment.

  He had been accurate in his work. He had been accurate in all he had done since. His companions still joked at his neatness.

  Now his thoughts wandered, but they were not without discipline. It was natural that as he lay there he should think of some of his poaching exploits in the old days. Expeditions so coolly planned, so carefully executed, that no one had ever guessed them, unless it were his parents in a Yorkshire village to whom he posted the game. But he must not think of them. He supposed that they had perished. He had trained his mind not to think of the old things. But there was Madge. He would have Madge if Ellis died. He supposed
Ellis would die. He was the last man to make a fuss about nothing. He must have felt that he was fatally injured or he would not have spoken as he did. Jack did not hope he would die. His thoughts were clear and clean. But if he did....He had tried to get Madge for himself. He could not understand why she had chosen Ellis. A man twenty years older than he—or she, either. A man with one eye. He wondered how she would like the change. He knew just how she had felt to himself. He was too neat, too precise. He was not romantic. He thought she had liked him better with the fuller acquaintance of the recent weeks. They had been strangers when the choice was made. But she had been loyal to Ellis. It would not have crossed his mind to suggest that she should be otherwise. And there was to be a child. So Ellis evidently thought. Well, he would do his best for it. Ellis was a good man. But perhaps he would not die. Perhaps he would die himself. He might get killed in this hateful scrimmage before the night was over. He thought of Bill Horton lying at the foot of the embankment beneath him, with other men that he did not know. It might have been he instead of Bill. It might be his turn next. Tom was right. They must end it, and then find some way to live peacefully....There was a sound of shots in the tunnel. A sound of voices and of running feet. A man was scrambling over the barrier. Did he know the face in the firelight? His finger pressed the trigger, and the man fell backward.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  It had been agreed that Martin should take the first watch. He did not intend that there should be a second. He was resolved that Claire should have what sleep she could, and he did not intend that many hours should pass before they made the attempt on which they had decided. He knew that their chances would be less when the moon had risen. About a quarter of an hour before moonrise would be best. At that time they might get clear in the dark and would then have an increasing light to guide their flight. He turned his plan over in his mind and found it good. Even a few yards of start, and it would be hard to keep their trace in the darkness. In the morning they would be far away—free. Safe. Nothing that he had gathered mattered beside that possibility. Death tonight, or many years of life—with Claire. It was a great risk for a great prize.

  So he saw it. He saw also that his plan had one defect. They might be attacked earlier. He must be prepared for that. Thinking of this possibility, he had an idea.

  It was about the same time that Reddy had an idea also. They were both good ideas, but they did not harmonise. Reddy’s ideas concerning the rising of the moon, if any, were of the vaguest; but he wished to get the job over before Joe should return, and that might happen at any time.

  His idea was true to the type of his mind, having a simple but effective cunning.

  To search a tunnel some hundreds of yards in length in total darkness for two people who have shown already that they have both the will and the power to kill, is not an attractive programme. Reddy had no desire to run any risk, but he had faced it lightly, because he was sure that he could think of a way of carrying it out with safety. He had first thought of a silent crawl through the darkness and a deadly blow or a fatal shot at the man who sat or lay in a lighted place. If his victim should have a light, that would still be the best way. But he might not. Then they must advance hand-in-hand across the width of the tunnel. That seemed obvious, or otherwise their prey might elude them. They might pass them in the dark and give a clear road of escape. But he did not like the idea of the human chain. He had wit enough to see that it would not advance with silence and regularity. If one end of the chain should encounter those they sought there would be instantaneous confusion. They might escape very easily. Or the woman might be killed. They must avoid any risk of that. Or they might kill each other in the darkness. He saw that they must have a light. But he did not like the idea of being a target for bullets that might come out of the darkness. Hence his idea. They would move in two columns, feeling the wall on either side as they did so, and the two foremost men would carry a rope stretched across the width of the tunnel with a lantern slung at its centre. This would be if the tunnel showed no light or till they should see one. Then they could extinguish their own light if it seemed well. This method would enable them to advance rapidly and in comparative safety, while the stretched rope would make it impossible that their victims should pass unnoticed.

  They had only two rifles, but it is doubtful whether this could be considered a disadvantage to the attack as he planned it, which did not aim at a long-distance duel. Firearms are of a promiscuous danger in a scuffle in the darkness. And the woman must not be risked. Tigress though she might be, she would yield quickly enough when she saw that the man was dead. If not, she must be knocked on the head with moderation. A very quietening procedure.

  Though they were short of rifles they were well supplied with a miscellany of lethal weapons—pistols, knives, bludgeons, hatchets, and a sheathless sword, which made its owner unpopular as a close companion.

  It is the part of a good historian to appreciate the points of view of all the protagonists whose acts he chronicles. We observe that these men started down the embankment in an excellent humour. If their enterprise were somewhat more hazardous than the ferreting of rabbits it had also the hope of a richer prize. They were hunting the royalest game that a man may. They had run her to earth, and they had no doubt that they would have her out before morning.

  Martin’s plan was this. He considered the possibility of their enemies venturing into the tunnel instead of going soundly to sleep during the time that he was allowing them for that purpose.

  It was a disconcerting possibility. They had had fighting enough. All they wanted was to escape in safety. He wondered whether it would be possible to hide in such a way that a hostile search might pass them, leaving the way to safety open behind it. He could see no possibility till it occurred to him that such an attempt would be sure to enter by the right-hand wall, as the ashes of the fire must have fallen across the leftward side of the entrance, and must be deep and hot, and would naturally be avoided. Also, they would be moving as silently and secretly as possible. They would be in greater fear of being observed from the inside as they entered than when they were in the darker interior. Suppose that Claire and he should hide in the shadow of the further wall and very close to the entrance, would it not be almost certain that the search would pass them? The position would be so unexpected. But that would mean waking Claire and leading her to a place of waiting which would lack the comfort of the bed which he had made for her on the trolley. Though aware that he was weighing two questions of widely different importance, he was reluctant to do this. He had thrown off most of the load from the trolley (for what more did it matter?) leaving only an outer pile of such things as would give protection at front and sides to anyone lying upon it, with a bed of blankets and rugs in the centre. So prepared, it was not only a couch for her immediate rest, but would give them all possible protection when they should venture out. They had taken it back beyond the bend of the tunnel and had placed their lighted lantern between the rails about thirty yards away. They had loaded the rifles that they had collected and laid them side by side on the trolley; the spear was there also, but its shaft had cracked in the course of its last struggle with the heaving body of Bellamy, and, till it should be repaired, its days of good service were over.

  A conviction that they ought not to stay there longer conquered his reluctance to disturb her. “Claire,” he said softly. There was no answer. He leaned over, speaking more loudly. He touched her shoulder. He felt her hand that was under her cheek. The fingers closed on his own, but she did not wake. She murmured something inarticulate, and relapsed into a deeper slumber.

  Why should he not go alone to see whether his plan were practicable before disturbing her? He was sure that she would not wake. She was in no likely danger, while he would be between her and the obvious entrance. He would be a very short time away. There might be a guard placed in the tunnel entrance already. But if so it would be well to know. It would be desirable in any event to survey the position before
they should venture out. It might be better to do that now than immediately beforehand. If he should attract notice it would arouse vigilance, which might relax again as the hours passed. When they did venture it should be without preliminary warning, and at the utmost speed to which they could urge the trolley.

  These arguments seeming sound, he acted accordingly. He armed himself with the knife and the automatic. He did not take the lantern, not wishing Claire to be alarmed of its absence should she awake before his return, and because he wished to run no risk of observation from the outside. He felt his way along the wall in the darkness.

  He found the entrance to be much as he had expected, and was satisfied that his plan had been good. Its weakness was that it was now too late to execute it.

  He looked for a moment at the shadowy sides of the embankment and at a sky in which a few stars showed between the cloudier spaces.

  It was very peaceful and very still. He wished that they could start out at that moment. His inclination was to get it over, either for good or evil. But he was not accustomed to act upon impulse. He knew that if any watch were kept it would be more likely to be wakeful now than at a later hour of the night. He was not sure that it might not be best to avoid the trolley entirely and to creep quietly up the nearer bank. Even if they were stayed they could shoot quickly, and there would be a good chance of escape in the night. He was about to return, having resolved to awake Claire and discuss his newer plans, when he was aware of movements—quiet, stealthy movements that were out of sight on the further side of the tunnel. Round the edge of the wall, very dimly, he saw a face appear. He crouched back, his pistol in readiness. After a few moments of silence he heard a cautious whisper. A lighted lantern came into view. It showed the rat-like face of the originator of the enterprise. Reddy had at least one quality which is needed for successful leadership. He led.